Thursday, May 14, 2009, 10:25 AM ( 10 views ) - Posted by HeidiHere is a subject that I haven’t yet touched upon but I seem to struggle with, especially as of late. Words. Now this blog isn’t referring to the people that walk up and say “I know how you feel, my dog Duke died last summer…” Let’s just assume those people are missing a chromosome, chalk that up to ignorance, and move on. I’m talking about the people who hold special places in our lives, those people we love and value, and normally say things that we would try and accept. I knew it was inevitable to hear this one someday, but even that knowledge didn’t keep me from the sweaty palms and rapid heart rate I received upon its delivery “…It’s been two almost years, It’s time to move on.” Ouch, there it is like a grenade with the pin pulled moments before it explodes my heart. At first my mind went to logic, thinking that’s ridiculous, the death of a child is not something a mother just gets over. We all struggle through our existence trying to live a life that matters, and believe me, J.T.’s life mattered to me and it always will. Angry feelings followed that up of course, but I have become an expert at anger so that was no surprise, then days later, after the statement had time to marinate in my mind, the guilt set in. You see there is no book entitled Grieving For Dummies, therefore I don’t know if what I am feeling is right, and for someone to suggest that it isn’t makes me feel guilty, as though holding on is wrong, even though I know it’s impossible not to.
That first statement I thought I might hear, this next one didn’t even make my radar. “ Heidi, you have to learn to separate THIS from other situations.” THIS? What is THIS exactly? To me this is my son, my child, and just like my “living” children J.T. is a part of every situation and every decision I make. To have to separate what happened to him from every other aspect of my life would be cruel and unusual punishment. It has become almost as certain as blinking to openly cry when I am reminded of him or interject him into a situation where he is obviously and painfully missing. As the words began to bore holes in my brain, images of me in a black cloak alone in my room secretly grieving like a leper emerged, then the questions, Is that what I should do? Spare those around me from the pain I feel? Keep it to myself? That doesn’t honor J.T. and as much as I know how the people that love me don’t want me to hurt, I do. Is it better for me to conceal that to protect them, or for them to accept my pain to comfort me? I don’t want to cover my scars with a cloak, I am proud of them, they represent my son. Are these the wrong things to say? Perhaps, but inside every situation is a lesson and this week during my unwelcome “grief intervention” I have learned that life is a fine mingling of some holding on and others letting go.